


Verbatim

by Acai



Series: Wayfaring [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Anxiety Dogs, Bitty Loves Dogs Too Much for His Own Good and it Makes Him Sad, But It's Okay!!!! It's Happy in the End, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Service Dogs, lots of dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acai/pseuds/Acai
Summary: When Bitty went to Samwell, he'd been pretty adamant about his "no more dogs" resolution...but it's not as if he's going to say no to a dog that could help Jack out so much.///////In which Bitty's spent so long loving dogs that he's beginning to fear them.





	Verbatim

**Author's Note:**

> Special shoutout to @smokedcapybara on Tumblr for naming Jack's dog in this and for deciding that "Doggos" was the ideal name for this fic. Another shoutout to @anemaynoia for encouraging me to title this "He's Knot the One for Me".

          The dog was tiny when they first got her.

She wasn’t energetic, propped in his dad’s lap without moving a muscle; Bitty had doubted that his dad had brought home a real dog at all.

“It’s real?” He’d asked, dubious. “Why isn’t it moving?” 

“She’s probably really sleepy,” his mom had replied. “Don’t you know how you take naps when you’re sleepy? She’s probably napping.”

“She’s _real?_ ”

“Yes, Dicky, she’s real.”

“And she’s for _me?”_

His dad had grinned a big crocodile grin (one that would make him nervous when he got older) and lifted the puppy up, despite her indignant squalor. “All yours, kid. Do you know what dogs like this are for?”

Bitty had thought, long and hard, but didn’t have a clue in the end. He didn’t know that dogs were _for_ anything at all.

“They’re for hunting, son. She’s a real smart huntin’ dog, you can bet she’ll help you make lots of good catches when you both get a little older.” The puppy had squirmed, and his dad had plopped her down onto the chair, standing up to continue making his point as he paced around the living room. “Now, she’s mostly a bird hunting dog, but by the time she’s retired you’ll be ready for somethin’ bigger. I figured it was a good start. My old man got me started with an English Setter—man, that was a good dog.”

He turned, fully expecting his son to be enamored at the thought.

Instead, the six-year-old had rolled the dog over onto her back and was now patting her stomach. “She’s soft,” he told his dad. “She’s pretty, too.”

His dad blinked, glancing at his wife helplessly, but received only a shrug in response as Suzanne squatted down next to her son. “She’s eight weeks old,” she told him. “She’s little, like you, and she’s real smart, too. They say a dog is a boy’s best friend, you know.”

“We’re already best friends,” Bitty had exclaimed, bouncing on his toes while his mother taught him how to hold the puppy.

~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~~ ~

          The dog, Pepper, loved a lot of things. She loved running, and swimming, and fetching, and stealing food off of the table when Suzanne wasn’t looking. She loved rolling over for treats, and sharing lunch with Bitty (also when Suzanne wasn’t looking), and chasing the neighbor’s cat.

But Pepper loved one thing more than anything else in the world, and that was bird hunting. It wasn’t surprising that she’d enjoy it—she had been bred for it, after all, but it was just a tad unfortunate, because Bitty didn’t enjoy it one bit.

 _Watching_ the birds was fun, and watching Pepper run and point was fun, but watching the birds fall down and having Pepper run back to him with a limp body, still warm, in her mouth…well, that wasn’t so much fun.

It was hard to be mad, though, because Pepper was hard to be mad at.

Bitty’s mom loved Pepper, and she showed this love by putting the dog into sweaters and pinning flowers to her floppy ears and calling her a _pretty little lady_ and a _sweet lamb,_ and Pepper would lick his mother’s hand in response even though she didn’t entirely understand.

Bitty’s dad loved Pepper, because she barely needed to be taught how to hunt birds, and because she could streak after a duck faster than any of the other setters could. His love was a little harder to earn, and tougher to decipher. But he’d pat her on the head now and then, and Bitty had even seen him sneak her a piece of meat one time.

And Bitty—Bitty adored the dog, but for neither of the same reasons. He liked walking the dog, especially in the morning so that he could see the trail that her paws made in the dew. And he liked eating lunch outside with the dog and slipping her little pieces of his sandwiches. And he liked teaching her tricks, and talking to her, and reading to her under the covers with a flashlight before bed, because Pepper was his best friend, and there was no doubt about it.

But she didn’t seem to understand the concept of not killing birds.

“Pep,” he’d tried explaining once. “The birds have families, too.”

She’d cocked her head a little bit.

“Birds are really smart. They can even talk to each other. Some of them bring back presents for their parents. They have _families,_ Pepper! You can’t just kill them,” he rubbed her ear, hoping he wasn’t being too harsh. “It’s okay to chase them, but…it’ll make me really sad if you kill them.”

Pepper was too busy listening with one ear cocked to the fields behind Bitty’s neighborhood to listen to a word he was saying.

“Pepper? Did you understand that?”

A neighbor’s dog howled somewhere far off, and Pepper brayed back in response.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bitty liked his dog even more when he thought about her in comparison to humans. He couldn’t talk to kids at school, but he could talk to Pepper. Kids at school would laugh, or shove, or kick, or sneer, but Pepper just listened with her big eyes staring right into Bitty’s.

“Did you know that dinosaurs lived 230 million years ago? For three whole periods. Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous.” Bitty informed Pepper. “And those were all during the Mesozoic.”

Pepper panted along happily.

“I’m glad you liked that one,” Bitty replied. “The kids at school didn’t.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

When Bitty was twelve, he got shoved in a locker overnight. He’d cried until he fell asleep, and then woken up and cried more when he realized he was still trapped in the dark. Some obnoxious part of Bitty’s mind, the part without any sense, had been sure he was going to die there.

He’d cried all the way up until his mama found him hours later, looking disgruntled, but relieved.

Pepper hadn’t judged him for it, braying when she saw him and panting in his ear at night while he fell asleep. If she had a problem with the night light or his tight grip, she didn’t say anything about it.

He baked her treats the next day as a thank-you.

  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Pepper was always there—for his ice skating tournaments, and for his football games (wearing a jersey and everything, when the heat allowed), and for his hockey games. Pepper was just _there._

Bitty had never considered the possibility of her not being there. A part of him had always assumed that she couldn’t ever die, that she’d just be with him forever.

He was proved wrong when he was thirteen and she was seven and his mom pulled him out of school early, crying in the car while he clutched his dog in the back seat while she wheezed and panted and shook.

He didn’t understand what was happening until his mom was crying and insisting that he “hurry up and say goodbye, Dicky.”

“ _Oh,”_ Bitty murmured, because Pepper wasn’t allowed to die—they hadn’t finished reading _Wicked_ yet. She hadn’t come to see him at his figure skating performance—green skates and a green tunic—for Elphaba—and white leggings—for Glinda, because Pepper had panted the most at that idea.

“I’ll let you kill some birds if you get better,” he pleaded, and she didn’t even wheeze in response, staring back at him with red eyes. “You can have as much of my sandwich as you want, and we’ll go swim in the river, right, Pepper? You want to go duck hunting, don’t you, Pep?”

Whether she wanted to or not, she never answered.

And Bitty hated, hated, hated the way her paw went limp in his hand and her eyes went glassy a few minutes later.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His mom was sad, but sad because their beloved family pet died.

His dad was disgruntled, because the best bird hunting dog around was now the best had-been bird hunting dog around.

But Bitty---Bitty didn’t _know_ what to call this emotion, but it _hurt._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His dad didn’t wait a whole week before bringing home a new puppy.

This one, a much bigger Irish Setter, was much more energetic. She squirmed out of the box, and out of his dad’s arms, and had practically thrown herself into Bitty’s lap, squalling the whole time.

Bitty had stared, dumbstruck, because this dog wasn’t Pepper.

“Do you want to name her?” His mama asked, and that had been enough to jolt Bitty out of his trance.

He jerked the puppy away from his lap, holding her an arms-length away as if she were diseased. “Take her back.”

His mama had sputtered just long enough for him to dump the puppy on the floor and march off to his own room.

His dad hadn’t said a thing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His mama named the dog Jersey and his papa trained her to hunt birds the same way that he taught Pepper.

And Bitty?

Bitty made sure she knew to keep away.

 

~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bitty relished in the fact that his mama and papa had both begun to regret their choice of dog.

Jersey seemed to have a spectacular knack for letting people down.

She couldn’t take a hint, trotting after Bitty everywhere that he went and whining at his door each night.

She didn’t even wait for Suzanne to turn around to take their food, and she never hesitated to ruin pillows or rugs.

 And best of all, she couldn’t hunt to save her life, pointing at garbage cans and shoes, but never at birds or rabbits. When she ran too fast, she tripped and rolled over her own fat paws.

Jersey was _truly_ the most wonderful karma the animal shelter could have ever bestowed upon the Bittle family, in Bitty’s personal opinion.

She’d never done anything to offend Bitty, honestly, except for the fact that she wasn’t Pepper.

And she would have continued to be a terrible, horrible, not-Pepper of a bad hunting dog forever, probably, if Bitty hadn’t been so weak-willed.

Because Jersey _wasn’t_ Pepper, but she was a dog who was so desperate for love that she would press herself into Bitty’s stomach and cry until he held her whenever she got the chance, and Bitty was a thirteen-year-old loser, lonely and sad and missing the only best friend that he’d ever had.

So he opened his bedroom door and let her slink in, and he watched her cry at the foot of his bed. He watched her crawl from the foot to the bed, and he watched her stare up at him with lonely, mopey eyes.

When he pulled her into his lap, she cried until he pet her; she only relaxed when she was sure he wasn’t going to stop.

So he told her about the dinosaurs, and the stars, and he taught her about figure skating and football (because he supposed she’d have to get used to both sports), and she listened quietly right next to his heart, breathing softly into his shoulder.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Bitty was fifteen and he quit figure skating, Jersey was there to chew on his skates the very next day.

When Bitty decided that he wanted to take up hockey five months later, Jersey was there to look surprised when he found his skates in ruins.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jersey’s favorite pie was cherry, which, okay, wouldn’t have been Bitty’s first choice, but whatever.

She had developed a knack for jumping up onto the counter and _destroying_ anything that he baked, and while Bitty was glad somebody was appreciating his hard work, he’d kind of like to appreciate it for himself every once in a while.

Logically, it was just right that he bake a pie just for her. Maybe he could bribe her into leaving his alone.

The only solution was to look up recipes for dogs and spend weeks perfecting the craft, of course.

Jersey still preferred the cherry pie—and who wouldn’t?—but the rip-off versions were good enough for an animal who ate garbage.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~

Jersey wasn’t _supposed_ to be in the front yard. She wasn’t _supposed_ to leave the backyard. She was _supposed_ to stay inside. She was _supposed_ to come when she was called.

But Jersey was in the front yard, and she wasn’t in the backyard, and she’d run outside after Bitty on his way to get the mail, and she hadn’t come back when she’d been called, and she’d run right into the road and—

This time, Bitty understood what was happening while his mama cried behind him in the vet’s office.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~

Bitty made sure his papa knew better than to try to get another puppy this time, and he had assumed that his point would be _pretty fucking clear all on its own._

And it seemed to be, for a whopping six months.

When Bitty was sixteen, his dad walked in the front door cradling the _mangiest_ King Charles Spaniel that anyone had ever laid eyes on.

And Bitty—Bitty was _four seconds away_ from losing his goddamn mind—

But.

But, the dog was hurt, and Bitty was suddenly very aware of the fact that this wasn’t another hunting dog prodigy-to-be that his dad had dragged home from a shelter.

The stray hated everything.

He hated baths, and he hated being brushed, and he hated being dried, and he hated being brushed a _second_ time, and he hated being fed, and he hated drinking water, and he hated Pepper’s dog bed, and he hated Jersey’s kennel, and Bitty had half a mind to hate him right back.

But it wasn’t _his_ fault that he’d been beat up by some bigger dog, and it wasn’t _his_ fault that Bitty’s papa had taken him home to fix him up.

Bitty’s mama had taken to calling him _the gremlin_ by the time night rolled around, and his parents had a good laugh about it and went to bed.

And Bitty…

Bitty stayed up with a sinking feeling in his gut about the sickly looking thing sitting in Jersey’s kennel.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The gremlin survived the night, somehow, and by morning hadn’t grown any less grumpy.

He went to the vet, and they took turns changing his bandages, giving him his medicines, and reveling at the amount of hatred that resided in a single dog.

In time, the gremlin changed into Gremlin, and integrated into their family so smoothly that Bitty didn’t even realize they’d adopted another dog until the thing had been living just under his bedroom for nearly seven months.

Gremlin hated a lot of things, which probably had a fair amount to do with the sheer amount of _sickness_ that his body constantly possessed, but medicine, a full belly, and a warm bed to curl up on at night kept him going for another year and a half before Bitty had the unpleasant experience of petting a cold dog when it came time for breakfast.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Bitty didn’t hate dogs.

He just…wasn’t a _fan._ He wasn’t scared of them or what he might contract—in fact, he rather liked dogs. The fact remained that he’d rather be caught dead than own one, and he supposed that certainly would make it look like he hated dogs.

He wasn’t scared of dogs. He was just scared of the way that it hurt when he lost them.

Still, ask anybody else and they’d tell you that they’d never met a bigger dog-grinch in their lives.

Shitty had told him, more than once, that it was absolutely not fitting to his personality to hate dogs---Bitty suspected Shitty only had such a strong opinion on Bitty’s opinion because he wanted a Haus dog, but whatever.

(Which, no, that was a horrible idea, and not just because Bitty had threatened to stop making pies for the team if they brought a dog into the Haus, but because the filth of the house alone would be potent to the poor thing.)

And, well, Bitty’s distaste towards dogs was just a thing. It was just a thing, and it was just accepted, and it would really never matter to any of the other’s because they weren’t allowed to have animals anyway.

(The LAX frats would most definitely turn them in if they tried.)

But nothing ever seemed to go according to plan, because before Bitty could even blink he was the Samwell men’s hockey captain and he was dating an NHL star and he spent more time at his boyfriend’s apartment than the Haus and—

Well.

And Shitty was talking about a dog.

It wasn’t just _a dog,_ because Bitty would have shot that down faster than Shitty would have been able to blink. It wasn’t even _Shitty’s dog,_ but Shitty was a willing advocate for the dog all the same.

Bitty didn’t like dogs. It wasn’t complex. There was nothing hard to understand about it. Shitty knew this, Lardo knew this, Ransom and Holster and Chowder and Dex and Nursey knew this, and _Jack_ knew this. And that had been _fine,_ because the Haus hadn’t been allowed dogs, and Jack was willing enough to agree to no dogs.

So now Bitty was evidently at a cross-roads, because this wasn’t _a dog._ It was an anxiety dog for Jack, and Jack had been too anxious to even bring it up. So here was Shitty, rambling through the pros of anxiety dogs and talking about how it could help Jack (especially at conferences, Bits, he could just lay under the table—and he’d know how to get people when he has anxiety attacks, and bring medicine, I mean, really, these are smart dogs). As if Bitty would say _no_ to Jack doing something to help his anxiety—as if that were Bitty’s choice in the first place.

He tells Shitty he’ll talk to Jack.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They don’t mention it until after dinner, while they’re procrastinating washing the dishes on the couch. They’re curled up and watching _House Hunters,_ and it’s warm and nice.  But there’s more important things to attend to.

“I don’t hate dogs,” Bitty said. “Which shouldn’t matter one way or another.”

“Uh,” came Jack’s intelligent response.

“Honey, this is something to help your anxiety. Your mental health doesn’t rely on whether or not I like dogs—,”

“There’s other—,”

“Shitty told me about them, it can help you in the long run a lot—,”

“But not if you’re—,”

“First of all,” Bitty cuts him off, pressing his hand to his stupid-wonderful-amazing boyfriend’s mouth. “I’m not your ma. I’m not in charge of your important life choices, and you certainly don’t need my permission to do things that will help you. _Second of all,”_ he continues, talking over the indignant look on Jack’s face. “I know that you’re making sure I’m comfortable, and that’s sweet, _you’re_ sweet, but this is different than not using pine-scented cologne.”

 “Uh,” Jack said again, muffled through Bitty’s palm.

“If you think this will help you,” Bitty continued. “Then by all means, Sugar, get the dog. The Lord knows I’ll love any dog that helps you out as much as that one will.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The dog, a German Shepherd, had a twelve month waiting period. Bitty trailed after his boyfriend and lingered by the door while Jack met the puppy.

He hadn’t been sure he should go—after all, this was a puppy who would, eventually, live with them, and he wasn’t entirely eager to fall in love with another puppy, which would make _him_ nervous—and if Bitty was nervous around the dogs, then Jack was going to be nervous about Bitty being nervous, and Bitty didn’t want to send Jack into an anxiety attack over meeting his anxiety dog.

But the puppy—the puppy is _so small_ compared to Jack. It’s not going to stay that way, Bitty knows, because soon enough the dog will be as big as Bitty when its on its back legs—big enough to help out a guy Jack’s size. All the same, the puppy is small now, and Jack is sitting on the group and holding the dog like a baby while it licks at his nose.

By the end of the day, Jack and the German Shepherd have been matched.

The woman calls the dog a _sweet little lamb_ and _gorgeous little girl._

Jack calls the puppy Puck.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~

Jack spends the next year fretting, and Shitty spends the year sending Bitty articles on service dogs. He knows that Jack knows all this stuff—he’s been attending courses since he matched with the puppy—and Bitty spends the year noticing more and more how much the dog is going to help.

Because Jack is an adult, and Bitty is an adult, and as much as Bitty loves Jack, they’ve both got jobs and commitments, and they can’t always be together. But with the puppy, Bitty won’t worry so much when Jack wakes up and it’s…not a good day.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Puck comes home with them and falls asleep on the ground the second her vest comes off. She’s had a big day, and Bitty can’t blame her.

She sleeps, snoring a little, and Bitty watches her.

He’s never had a dog as big as this. She’s got more personality than Pepper did at this age, like a little toddler. Puck’s got just as much energy as Jersey, but hers is centered better. And already Bitty is getting a feeling that Gremlin’s got nothing on the little thing sleeping on his living room floor.

“Is this okay?” Jack asks behind him, making Bitty jump.

“Huh?”

“The dog. Is this okay?” Jack repeats.

Bitty turns around, standing up and holding out his hands to his stupid-wonderful-amazing boyfriend. “This is absolutely okay, honey. I’ve got a good feeling about this dog.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~

They start off slow. Puck’s here to help Jack out, so it would be a little counterproductive to send him into a tizzy with the stress of adjusting to an anxiety dog right off the bat.

So first, they just take Puck with them to restaurants and movies and meetings with Georgia. Puck accompanies them to the Haus next, and Bitty knows right off the bat that Shitty has educated the Haus members on service dog etiquette, because nobody even mentions the dog unless Jack does first. Puck settles quietly onto the floor by the couch, licking her paw while Jack talks about sports in Harry Potter.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They get a little bit bigger after that. Puck comes to practice with Jack, sitting on the sidelines and wagging her tail while she watches him.

It takes time, but eventually she accompanies him everywhere. She’s not doing much outright, but Bitty can tell the affect that she’s got on Jack. He focuses on the dog when he’s overwhelmed, and buries his hands in her neck fur when his hands start to shake.

It’s nothing big at first, not for more than a month.

A month after Puck comes home with them, though, Bitty gets a phone call. It’s Jack, and his breathing is shaky and he’s stumbling through sentences that don’t make any sense, and Bitty’s in the car before he’s even promised Jack he’s on his way.

When he gets to the rink (in record time, he might just add), Jack is still on the ice. Instead of pressing his back to the wall and curling in on himself with his fingers dug into his scalp, however, this time he’s got his face buried in a massive dog’s black fur. His hands are buried in her pelt, and if he’s yanking at her fur she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s got him barricaded off, and his teammates know better than to mess with him like this, but she’s there as a protective barrier nonetheless. She’s panting, and her tail is wagging; as if nothing at all it wrong.

He’s doing better than he’d normally be doing at this point—much better. He’s already calm enough for Bitty to crouch down next to him and murmur, and his hands are only shaking a little bit when they press into Bitty’s.

When he’s calmed enough to muster his voice, the first thing that he says is, “she brought me my phone,” and his voice is tinged with an emotion that Bitty couldn’t quite figure out yet.

“Huh?”

“She brought me my phone,” Jack repeated, voice still a little unsteady. “When she came over, she gave it to me, so I called you. And she sat with me.”

None of this is shocking to either of them, because it’s exactly what she’s here to do, but it makes Bitty grin anyway.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jack is asleep on the couch (despite Bitty’s protests, because his back was going to be sore in the morning, but he’d let it slide because he knew Jack probably didn’t have the energy to go to bed), and Puck is slobbering at Bitty’s feet.

She’s allowed to dork around now that her vest is off, and she chooses to use her evening time begging to Bitty’s food.

“You have food,” he tells her. “You aren’t allowed to eat mine. Your trainer said so.”

A fat drop of drool splatters onto the floor.

“You shouldn’t be drooling over this anyway. It’s broccoli. You wouldn’t like it.”

Her mouth opens just a bit, and her eyes are wide.

“I’m serious, you can’t have this.”

But Bitty feels too guilty to say no to _any food,_ so he fetches her a biscuit and watches her scarf it down.

“You’re a good dog, Puck,” Bitty informs her. Her tail beats against the floor with the strength of a mallet at the mention of her name. “I dunno if I’d call you the _best_ dog yet,” her head cocks to the left. “But that’s just because I knew some pretty great dogs. Still. You’re winning your own category here, so don’t feel too bad. It takes a pretty spectacular dog to be a match for that guy over there.”

They both take a moment to watch the man on the couch, fully dressed with the exception of one sock, snoring on the couch. Puck just pants heavily, dragging her tongue across her lips as she plops herself down onto the floor with a _thud_ that practically rattles the dishes.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is @aobajosighs, send me any prompts or requests that you have if you feel like it! Tell me about what you thought in the comments, and leave a kudos if you liked what you read : ) I'd love to write more about Jack and Puck, so if you'd??? be interested in that then definitely let me know.
> 
> thank you!


End file.
